The Intrepid Introvert is one woman's year-long expedition to get out of her routine and shake up her life, one week at a time.

Two Februarys in Florida taught me how important it is for my spirit that I get away during the dreariest of months. I struggled to decide where I’d want to go in 2019. Finally, I found the right destination, and two weeks venturing to South Africa with a group of young professionals ticked all the right boxes.

For nine years, I rented a small house from my parents. As responsible and flexible landlords, they gave me pretty free rein to make the house my own. They long encouraged me to buy the house from them, citing the tax and financial benefits I’d gain long-term as a homeowner.

I resisted. The [silly high] expectations I had for myself made me want to buy a home that I chose for myself, not one that was conveniently available through family circumstances. I wanted to make my own decision when I bought my first home, not just take my parents’ recommendation (even though I knew it was sensible).

Nine years later, I was still renting. Then, this past spring, my tax return gave me a final kick from behind: some tax deductions really wouldn’t be a bad idea for next year.

My four-legged copilot has an intrepid scoring category all of her own, and yet it had been more than six months since I took Mylee along on an adventure. This spring, the perfect opportunity came along: the Mutt Strut.

Dance—in a pretty non-traditional sense—has been a pretty big part of my life from the time I was 10 years old. Clogging, ballroom, salsa, and Lindy Hop have all been in my repertoire at some point, but not in the last several years. I missed it, though. When I discovered a local group teaching Rueda de Casino—a casual, street-style salsa danced in Cuba—I was intrigued. In this style, the dancers switch to a new partner every 10 seconds or so when the caller calls out your next move seven or eight beats ahead of time.

A few times during an active legislative session, the representatives for my county gather for “Legislative Breakfasts”—open meetings with the public. I made my first appearance with the encouragement of this project.

As I drove closer on that dark and cold morning, I pictured the scene in my head: I'd walk into a room with perhaps a dozen or so fellow citizens, and the organizers would greet me warmly because they would be so glad to see a new attendee. You can imagine my (pleased!) shock when I approached the venue and saw a parking lot overflowing with 200 or more cars.

I've wanted to try throwing pottery at a wheel for as long as I can remember (well before I ever saw Ghost). This experience specifically was one I had in mind at the very beginning of this year-long challenge: I’ve wanted to try it, so why have I put this off?

I recently discovered a local café that I was shocked had been hiding from me for nearly a year: HoiTea ToiTea. A tea-focused café that offers classes. Heaven! I signed up for the first class available: The Art & Science of Blending Your Own Tea, a two-hour education and hands-on experience.

After a week of jumping from one scenic and interesting town to another on New Zealand’s North Island—continually feeling like, “Wait! I want more time here!”—I was especially excited to have just one Airbnb rental in Nelson on the South Island for the next six nights.

New Zealand is 8,200 miles from my home in the Midwestern United States. Before January of this year, I let that distance keep me from seriously considering making a trip there myself. I told myself, “Some day I’ll do it." Apparently, what I needed was the right carrot dangled in front of me: an invitation to join two friends who have visited multiple times and could share their familiarity with me. On February 13, I landed in Auckland, New Zealand, and my first-ever two-week vacation began.

I had plans to spend the month of February—escaping Indiana's miserable winter—in sunny Jacksonville, FL. That all changed on January 4 when I got a text from my friend, Schuyler: “I’ve been thinking. Regardless how intrepid you want 2018 to be, you should find two weeks between mid-Jan and mid-March and connect with us in New Zealand.” Hold. The. Phone.

The first time I fainted was a couple days before my eighth birthday. It wasn’t until I passed out in the front of a classroom in middle school that I went to the doctor and got a diagnosis: vasovagal syncope. With this history in mind, you now understand why this intrepid activity is particularly significant: I tried acupuncture, a process which includes having 45 needles stuck into my skin and left for 24 minutes.

Through the magic of a well-targeted Facebook advertisement, I learned that Newfields was hosting weekly Wednesday-morning sunrise dance parties through the month of January. Their name was excellent: a Seasonal Affective Disco. The name alone made me want to check it out. I finally got around to it on the last possible day: January 31.

Have you ever discussed a shared memory with a friend and realized that the two of you had very different recollections of the same moment in time? My latest intrepid activity—a Vibrational Sound Therapy concert—and the comparison of personal experiences immediately afterward—reminded me of exactly that phenomena.